Memories of the Times


Between infidelities and
celebrities’ new hobbies,
one hears news of massacres,
voices buried figuratively, while
backhoes in Maguindanao clean
up the inconvenience in a
vividly literal manner.

Of communities in the
rural margins kept company
by men who dedicate their
labor for the land, however
they handle high powered fire
arms instead of plows,
promising peace but not
redemption.

And yes, rebels cohabit
with the aswangs, their
affair remaining strong
and loyal much to the
dismay of urban fans
itching for a scandal and
new love teams.

Wives and children defend
their luxuries from lazy
opportunists articulating phenomena
of political dynasties and likes,
looking for loopholes in the clean
record of their hardworking public
servants, foundation of homes.

The new heroic, those who
seek adventure and pastures
not necessarily greener, overseas,
occupy a fragile position making
Carlos Bulusan’s struggle seem
like a holiday, spread out in the map,
well integrated like Cold War spies
sustaining the young, the terminal,
and the economies of both worlds.

America has grown obese but with
dripping sweat in his face, is ready
to defend the free world, calling his
little brown brothers into arms with
the aim of spreading the fetish for
miniature democratic spaces
a global trend.

This nation’s resilience
has made the horror into the mundane
since these memories of the times
could refer to the 60s, or 70s, or 80s
or yesterday.

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